


Power And Strength

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: X Years Later [21]
Category: Newcastle (2008)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two very different concepts. </p><p>Twelve to twelve and a half years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power And Strength

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original movie belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Sorry for the delay! I was extremely busy - but I will attempt to get the next one out by the end of the month! Thank you for your patience and all your lovely comments :)
> 
> I highly recommend everyone to watch this movie.

That feeling.

There is no explaining it, it has neither a name nor a simple description. One quarter anger, three quarters irritation. Or maybe, it’s half and half. Or maybe worry is actually the bigger part of it. Oh well. Who cares? All that he knows is that he is feeling it – and that it hurts.

He is standing outside, a warm spring day, light breeze and semi-clouded skiy, the atmosphere peaceful and innocent, but he feels so rotten and strung out, he is actually annoyed by the tranquility. It is as if even the occasional lazy bird chirps are playing on his taut nerve strings.

 

There was no telling as to how long it has actually been going on for because he just couldn’t get it out of Andy. And he – he’s either been too busy to notice it himself or Andy has been too damn good at hiding it. Because it finally began to register with Fergus only after a few times when, whilst they were watching a movie or even just relaxing quietly curled up on the couch, Andy would lift his head off Fergus’ shoulder with a demure apologetic smile and, disconnecting a little, bow it down, closing his eyes. That was nothing in and of itself, really, and perhaps that was why Fergus never really paid any attention - until *that* day - the day when he, per his habit, reached out to put his arm around Andy’s shoulders – and Andy winced and pulled away. He did it only for a second, mechanically, but, immediately realising what he had done, tried to cover it up with a ridiculous “are you hungry?” and “should I go make us some tea?” – but it was too late because the damage was already done. This was something Fergus would have never expected. Andy would have never pulled away from his touch – never – not even if they were fighting.

And that then was followed by an awkward conversation which felt like pulling teeth, really, because Andy kept his head bowed with monosyllabical answers and Fergus felt like grabbing and shaking him: “Why didn’t you let me know??” Of course, his initial reaction was surprise and anger – that was the damaged part of his personality rearing its head – followed by an intense feeling of irritation and betrayal, which he unleashed at Andy in a series of semi-confrontational questions. Andy just stood there, blinking his eyes.

Fergus tossed it over in his head overnight and then simply told him in the morning:

“You’re going to have to go.”

“It’s nothing!” – Andy protested hastily, waving his hand. They’d been sitting at their breakfast table in heavy silence.

“Well, you are” – Fergus informed him resolutely, - “And I will escort you if I have to.”

Andy just blinked, staring at the table. 

 

Fergus begins pacing the pavement, running his hand over the back of his neck. “You could have told me earlier!”- He remembers hissing at Andy, - “If you had told me sooner, it wouldn’t have come to this!” Andy had nothing left to offer because he’d already used up his reservoir of excuses and so he stood back silently, allowing his lover to rile up. 

 

“He can do whatever he wants to” – Fergus tried to reason with himself later on, - “It is his life, his body…” Well, yeah, but… it wasn’t. Not as far as Fergus was concerned because neither of those really belonged to Andy alone anymore, not after almost twelve years that the two of them had been together. Plus, “You really do own me, Fergs” – he remembers Andy saying – whispering into his ear, - and that there was quite early on, really, so quite a few years back. He didn’t say it out of the blue, of course, it was just a final remark in some conversation they were having, but that was what was left of it in Fergus’ memory, those last few words. Andy leaning his head back on Fergus’ shoulder, with that special cat-smile of his, “you really do own me, Fergs. You really do… and I like it.” 

He’d handed all the power over to Fergus, he’d allowed Fergus to do whatever he wanted with him, and… what had Fergus done?

 

“I’m sorry, you what?!” – Fergus remembers staring at Andy incredulously on that day about week ago, - “And how long have you been feeling it?!” See, Andy is so damn good at projecting this aura of cheerfulness and peace that Fergus sometimes – well, he must, because what else can be it be? – really just takes it for granted. That Andy will always be there, doing stuff for him, listening to him vent, understanding him, loving him, goddamn it. Fuck, Andy probably knows about as much about the shenanigans at Fergus’ office as Fergus does himself because Andy patiently listens to him rant about it nearly every night. Because he can tell Andy everything, because he can ask Andy to do anything, and Andy will listen and accept and do…

 

 

He buries his head in the palms of his hands and shakes it. Andy is so fucking amazing at understanding, at caring, at dealing with their loser friends, Jesse and the rest of Fergus’ dysfunctional family, he’s got so much of that inner strength and stability, that he’s like a perma-glue that keeps Fergus’ mind from cracking under pressure. And Fergus knows he can focus on his career and earning money and the whole administrative and financial aspect of their lives precisely because he can always count on Andy to deal with the rest. In truth it doesn’t even really matter what his issue is at any given time – he can always bring it to Andy, and together, they will always find a solution, because Andy can always help out, even if just by lending an ear. But Andy…? Damn, how many other things did he decide to just rather deal with alone?

 

He remembers at the end of that night requesting Andy lay on their bed on his stomach with a pillow under his chest. Andy protested weakly, but as he never really could out-argue Fergus, eventually complied, and Fergus, running his fingers gently over his neck, lightly prodding into the bones and tender, hot muscles there and watching Andy bite his lip, face draining of blood, felt tears starting to sting at his eyes:

“Christ, I cannot even imagine the amount of pain you must be in!”

But Andy protested even then – probably per his habit:

“It’s really not that bad – don’t worry…”

Fergus then watched him take a Nurofen and slide under the covers, placing his head onto Fergus’ chest – ever so carefully – but doing it nonetheless – and falling asleep – but Fergus stayed awake for hours, just feeling him breathe, just holding him in his arms, burying his nose in Andy’s hair to smell the salt, the same emotions cycling and recycling through his head like a wind-up toy: anger, despair, worry, admiration, awe, love, worry, anger, despair… And the fact that Andy wouldn’t want to tell him about this for a simple reason of not wanting to inconvenience him, not to have this be added onto Fergus’ endless list of things to do, things to worry about… God, all of Andy really was in that one act of him quietly taking a pain reliever and placing his head on Fergus’ chest. He would do anything for other people. He wouldn’t do half as much for himself. 

 

 

Just as Fergus is about to begin pacing again, he sees Andy come out from behind a column on the inside of the building. He scans the lobby looking for him, but before Fergus can walk back in and get him, notices him, smiles, waves and starts on towards the exit. They meet up on the pavement just in front of the clinic’s entrance.

Fergus tries to keep his voice steady:

“And? Did they take X-rays?”

“Yeah” – Andy responds simply. He looks pale, but relaxed and peaceful.

“And?” – Fergus is ready to pounce on him, he sways onto his toes and uses the last of his willpower to sway back, - “Do you really have a slipped disc?”

“No” – Andy exhales and smiles again, - “No, no” – Fergus is still staring at him unblinking, so Andy is forced to continue. He waves his hand dismissively, - “Just some degenerative changes because of that blow I had back in ’08. Some mild arthritis, nothing to worry about…”

‘Degenerative changes, my arse! He’s only thirty-one!’ – Fergus fumes. He doesn’t even know who or what he is angry at. Aloud, he asks:

“And? How are they planning to manage it?”

“Conservatively” – Andy looks him over, then narrows his eyes and elaborates, - “They gave me an injection to bring down the swelling. The pain is gone already. They’ll have to monitor it of course, but they don’t think I’ll need a surgery for a few years” – He relaxes his face and brings his hand up to touch Fergus’ chest with the backs of his fingers, - “Hey, I’m alright… Okay? There’s nothing to worry about. It’s not that serious at all…”

And Fergus looks at him, his calm grey eyes, his tired smile and all the love that he sees in Andy’s whole being makes him want to scream. He wants to yell at him, that no fucking way, that no way in hell would he allow something like this to happen again, not on his watch and not to Andy, and he also wants to command him to never even think of going surfing again and “didn’t I warn you that that thing will catch up with you eventually?” but above all, he wants to just get it out of his chest before it explodes, that thought, that idea, that feeling, that goddamn it, yes, goddamn it yes, he will worry about it, no matter how minor, because Andy is a part of his own being, and the better part of it, he would like to think, and before he can even begin to deal with anything else, he’d like to make sure nothing bad happens to him.

To his Andy.

Because above all he’s so consumed with the love for this guy, he feels his heart stretch to the limit as it pounds with such force that he sees blackness trying to close in on him from the sides of his vision and all he manages is to croak out Andy’s name, and even here Andy understands immediately, because he slides up to him and envelops himself in Fergus’ arms, letting him press his face into his hair, neck, shoulder, and breathe in deeply a few good times. He allows him to pull away when he’s ready and he reciprocates Fergus’ intense, fiery stare with his own relaxed and mischievous one. 

“Alright, let’s go home then?” – Fergus finally blinks and turns, beckoning Andy forward with the arm he still has around his shoulders.

“Alright” – Andy agrees, following suit and matching his step.

He keeps his hand lightly but steadily on Fergus’ waist. 

 

And that’s why it works for them – because that’s how they are.

One has the power. The other one has the strength.


End file.
